


Almost a Catastrophe Job

by Goneahead



Category: Leverage
Genre: Just Add Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goneahead/pseuds/Goneahead
Summary: In which there is Eliot, explosions, and kittens.Written as a gift forOne Million Words, the best little writing community out there!
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51
Collections: One Million Words





	Almost a Catastrophe Job

**Author's Note:**

> Rework of a very old fic :)
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone at [One Million Words](https://1-million-words.livejournal.com/)!

* * *

\--One--

* * *

Sophie Devereaux looked out the coffee shop window, finishing the last of what was a surprisingly good masala chai. The coffee shop’s owner was right--the condemned building across the street was an eyesore. 

But not for much longer.

In exactly fifteen minutes, the building would be rubble, and shortly thereafter, Oliver Flourney would be filing an insurance claim. The evidence was already waiting on Hardison’s computers. Evidence that the state police would use to link Oliver to the purchase of the explosives—which would not only prove insurance fraud, but also tie him to some other crimes, ones actually committed by the environmentalists the team had helped last year.

It lacked the usual finesse she preferred in a job, but Oliver Flourney was a slum lord who had killed two elderly tenants, and the old townhouse had been a neighborhood nuisance forever. This took care of both problems quite neatly. 

_I’ve set the charges for the second floor._

Sophie stood, smiling with satisfaction at Eliot’s words, laid a tip on the table. Then she strolled out the door.

* * *

\--Two--

* * *

Nate stopped pacing in front of the monitors and frowned. Eliot hadn't said he was setting the charge on the first floor yet, and he was usually the most reliable of the team when it came to sticking to the schedule. “Eliot? Where are you?”

_I’m on the first floor, I just set the charge._

Eliot’s voice was angry, but then he usually was angry about something, so Nate just noted it—and dismissed it. “Good. Let me know when you’ve set the final charge.”

* * *

\--Three--

* * *

Hardison sat in the back of Lucile 2.0, hands flying across the keyboard, feeling vindicated. The next time one of the team gave him grief for hoarding stuff, he was going to remind them of Oliver Flourney. If he hadn’t saved those extra bombs from that job last year, they would never have been able to frame this scumbag for the scuttled boats—one of which happened, through sheer coincidence, to belong to Flourney's bookie.

Even better, framing Flourney for the boats meant that the actual scuttlers, a couple of nice but rather misguided tree huggers, wouldn’t have to worry about the Boston police knocking on their door some night.

 _I’ve got it, OK?_ Eliot’s voice, biting Nate’s head off.

Hardison leaned back in his chair, making sure his comm was off, “Dude, you have some _serious_ anger management issues.”

“Serious.”

Hardison looked over at Parker, not sure if she was agreeing with him or just in her own little world. Again.

There was some odd noises from Eliot’s feed, then a bang, and a grunt. He hit his comm, “Eliot?”

_Yeah. Yeah, charges. Shut up, I’m getting there, OK?_

Hardison cocked his head, trying to decide if something was actually wrong--or Eliot was just being Eliot.

_Everything’s set._

“All right, I am activating them.” Hardison hit the keys, sending the signal, “You have five minutes to get out of there.”

There was a loud crash and then Eliot’s voice came back on. _Reset them. I’m gonna need more time._

“Reset them?” Hardison threw his hands up in frustration. Whatever Eliot was doing, this was so definitely not the time or the place for him to be doing it. “Were you not listening to my briefing this morning? One chance, that's all we get. These detonators are seriously old school, man, I’m talking like, from the stone age. You guys are just lucky I was able to make them receive any wireless signal at all. You got exactly four and half minutes to get out of there.”

_Yeah, well, that’s gonna be a problem because the stairs just collapsed._

Wait—the stairs had collapsed? Hardison swallowed hard, staring at the countdown on the screen. 4:29, 4:28—

There was the sudden slam of the van's back doors, and he whirled, but Parker was already gone.

* * *

\--Four--

* * *

_Yeah, well, that’s gonna be a problem because the stairs just collapsed._

Parker froze at Eliot’s words.

Eliot, bomb, basement. 

Not good.

She scrunched up her face, making her brain pull up a map of the basement.

No, no, too hot, no—yes!

She snagged one of her ropes and scrambled across the floor of the van, slid out the back doors. She hit the pavement running, flying down the alley, pushing her legs faster and faster until she reached the old coal bin door.

She saw the rusted padlock, took a deep breath, “Ignore the distractions, work the problem.”

She pulled out her tools, went to work. Bit her lip, reminding herself to go slow, because the lock didn’t mean to be fiddly, it’d just been neglected for too long. For a few seconds, she thought the lock wasn’t even listening to her, but then it relented, with a reluctant ‘snick’.

She pulled the padlock off the door, opened the old coal hopper, “Eliot!”

* * *

\--Five--

* * *

Eliot placed the charges on the second floor, then took the stairs down to the first floor, moving carefully. The old building was more rot and mildew than wood; and the risers were spongy, and bowed alarmingly under his boots. He hit the first floor, placed the charge, and was just turning to go to the basement, when he heard the sound. He tilted his head, listening, heard it again.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He muttered under his breath, but followed the sound down the hall. The place stank, of urine and trash and who knew what else, and he made a face as he walked through a pool of filthy water. He heard it again, still faint, and zeroed in on the ancient mattress in the corner.

Nestled in a hole in the stained fabric was—

One, two, three, four, five.

Kittens. The black and orange one mewed, barely making any noise, and two of his littermates joined in. Eliot glanced around quickly, didn’t see their mother. He looked down, sizing up the situation. The kittens were tiny and barely moving, and their cries were far too weak. So no mother, and the building was about to go sky high.

Eliot tried to talk himself out of it. There was a million damn cats in the world, and the kittens were half-dead already and—

He said a very, very bad Arabic swear word, and shrugged out of his jacket.

 _Eliot? Where are you at?_ Nate’s voice, coming through the earbud.

“I’m on the first floor, I just set the charge.” Eliot growled, stripping off his shirt. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. He scooped up the kittens, put them in the middle of the shirt, tied it, then knotted his shirt tails together, creating a loop to carry it.

_Good. Let me know when you’ve set the final charge._

“I’ve got it, OK?” Eliot was tempted to rip the earbud out. He pulled on his jacket, grabbed the makeshift bundle, ignoring the tiny squeaks the kittens made, and hustled back down the hall to the basement door. 

He opened it, put one foot tentatively on the stairs, scowling when the half-rotten wood creaked and bent under his weight. _Damnit._ Next time Parker checked a place out, said the stairs ‘were kinda old’, Eliot was going to demand a structural report.

He pulled out a flashlight and swore again, this time in Mandarin. Generally, he’d stick to the side of the stairs closest to the wall, where the bracing would be stronger, but the bricks were wet, and it was the moisture from the wall that was eating away at the risers. He inched down, avoiding the twelfth step completely, then the seventh. Put his weight tentatively on the sixth, and then on the fifth-

The wood splintered under his weight.

He dropped the flashlight, made a grab for the railing which immediately gave, and then he was falling. It was sheer instinct, to tuck and roll, trying to protect the kittens instead of himself. His left shoulder struck the edge of the bottom step, sending a flash of red-hot pain lancing through him, and a second later, he hit the basement floor, the back of his skull cracking against cement.

For a moment, all Eliot saw was stars, then he heard Hardison calling his name.

“Yeah. Yeah, charges." Eliot put his right hand up, checked the bundle on his chest, which was thankfully still moving. "Shut up, I’m getting there, OK?”

He put the shirt and its cargo on the floor, pulled out the charge, and dragged himself slowly to his feet, the dizziness warring with the pain of moving his dislocated shoulder. His flashlight had survived the fall, and he used its beam to get his bearings. He staggered over to the nearest pillar, slapped the charge against it, not bothering to be gentle, "Everything’s set."

_All right, I am activating them. You have five minutes to get out of there._

Eliot was only half-paying attention to Hardison, because there was an ominous groan coming from the stairs. He forced himself to move, grab the kittens, and just as he snagged the shirt, the stairs came down. He dived behind the pillar, and his flashlight went out amidst the loud roar of falling timber and mortar.

The bundle squeaked and moved, and Eliot forced himself to breathe through the pain, "Reset them. I’m gonna need more time."

 _Reset them?_ Hardison squawked in his ear, then started jabbering, making Eliot's already throbbing head hurt more. 

He finally got a word in edgewise, "Yeah, well that’s gonna be a problem because the stairs just collapsed."

That shut Hardison up. 

Eliot sat in the dark, trying to find some way out of this mess. Concussion, dislocated shoulder, complete darkness... and kittens. He put his good hand on the shirt, feeling their tiny bodies through the soft cotton. 

_Think, damnit._

Wasn't there some kind of maintenance room in the northwest corner? There might be a ladder, or maybe some ductwork, or an old steam pipe. Eliot stopped, because he thought he'd just seen something—light?

"Eliot!" 

"Parker?" Eliot dragged himself to his feet again. Daylight streamed in and he realized that she'd found an old coal chute. 

Parker grinned down at him, tossing him rope, "We be the horses."

"Cavalry. Its _cavalry_."

 _Uh, guys?_ Hardison's voice, tight, worried. _The clock's ticking._

Eliot had no choice. He grabbed the bundle with his teeth, then wrapped his good hand around the rope. He jerked once, making sure it was secure, then made his painful way up the steep angle of the chute.

* * *

\--And One--

* * *

Sophie thanked the doctor again, let him out and closed the door to Nate's apartment. At least, she assumed Gary was a doctor, he had a medical bag and was apparently very familiar with dislocated shoulders. Then again, Nate had simply introduced him as 'an old friend' and Sophie mistrusted that phrase—Nate had a rather odd assortment of 'old friends' in Boston.

She went up the stairs, slowed when she saw Nate. He had a shoulder propped against the door frame of the spare bedroom, and a drink in his other hand.

She stepped to his side, said softly, "Nate—"

He took a sip of his drink, "No."

Instead of arguing, she turned--and smiled. Eliot was half-asleep, his arm in a sling, and wedged against a couple of pillows. There were two black and white kittens curled on his chest, and another orange and white ball of fuzz tucked between his shoulder and his neck. 

Hardison was sitting next to him, still gently coaxing the little tortoiseshell to finish the last milk in the bottle, while Parker was curled tight against Eliot’s side, petting the other orange and white kitten with an almost reverent look on her face.

"No." Nate said it again, his voice firmer, which she knew meant he was wavering. 

"Fine." She arched an eyebrow, "Which one of them are you going to tell first?" 

This time it was Nate who looked towards the bed. His gaze went to Eliot, slid to Hardison, and then landed on Parker. He sighed, and took a long swallow of his drink.

Sophie’s smile widened. 

They were keeping the kittens.

\--Finis--


End file.
